


Cut Scenes

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Jossed, abandoned, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4168482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the North in season 6 that will never happen.</p><p>Chapter 2: Sansa considers her options.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brienne

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.

“I could gather more wood if you untied me.”

Brienne glared back over her shoulder. “So you can run away? I think not.”

Stannis Baratheon grimaced. “And where would I run to, woman? Winterfell? Roose Bolton would flay me and send Cersei Lannister my skin bit by bit.”

An odd sound reached Brienne’s ears. They’d been alone in the Wolfswood for so long, she’d grown accustomed to the quiet. “What was that?” she hissed, yanking on Stannis’s rope. 

He stumbled, dumping his load of firewood with a clatter that echoed through the empty forest. 

Brienne ground her teeth in frustration and unsheathed her sword, scanning the trees for movement.

There, from the east, between them and the cabin where Pod, Theon, and Sansa waited. Two men on horseback, cloaked and hooded in dark brown, wearing no sigils she could see.

“Thieves or sellswords,” Stannis warned, right hand instinctively going to his waist, where neither sword nor dagger hung. Just a rope knotted around his waist, tying him to Brienne. She had plenty of experience with such things—Stannis wouldn’t get away.

“I can take two men,” Brienne answered. They could use the horses, too. Long ago she’d been too trusting of smallfolk, too sure that others valued honor over coin. Brienne had to protect Sansa at any cost. 

“And if you can’t? They’ll sell us to Bolton.” Stannis tugged on the rope, trying to pull her away from the approaching riders.

That was useless. Brienne in her armor could not hope to outrun two riders, and Stannis with his injured leg would fare even worse. 

She pointed Oathkeeper at him. “Just keep your mouth shut.” Stannis might pass as a Baratheon foot soldier being taken to Winterfell for execution. Her own lack of Bolton colors were more of a problem. She should have taken Ramsay’s cloak, but Lady Sansa had insisted they burn every scrap of evidence that Ramsay had been there.

The riders were nearer now. They had good horses, and one man was singing. They made no effort to conceal their approach. The singer’s voice was slightly muffled by a woolen wrap concealing much of his face. His companion’s hood darkened his face above a beard speckled with grey. 

The man stopped singing as they reined in their horses, ending his surprisingly melodic rendition of “Six Maids in a Pool.”

“What is your business here?” the other man asked gruffly.

Brienne gripped Oathkeeper more tightly. Both men seemed familiar. Bolton men she’d seen at the inn perhaps, but they didn’t sound Northern. 

“Found another stray stag. Taking him back to Winterfell.”

The singer shook his head. “Don’t bother. The only man Lord Bolton’s interested in is his son Ramsay, and that’s not him. Don’t suppose you have Ramsay too?”

Brienne shook her head. Ramsay and his dogs were no more than a pile of scorched bones buried beneath the snow.  

“He’ll only die out here,” the singer observed. “It’d be a kindness to kill him now.”

At that Stannis pulled on his rope again. “Just let me go,” he suggested, backing away as far as the rope allowed. 

“I know you,” the hooded man said sharply. 

“No,” Stannis insisted, looking down at his loosely bound hands. For a man who’d done little but insist that Brienne release him, he was suddenly very keen to stay with her. 

Unease prickled through Brienne. She’d been through this with Jaime, but she’d hoped Stannis was less recognizable. He’d never been a tourney knight, spending most of his time at Dragonstone or in King’s Landing. Northern smallfolk should not know him, nor would Bolton’s men know him on sight. 

“I know both of you,” the rider continued, pushing back his hood to reveal a handsome, familiar face. “The armor still suits you, my lady. The blade too.”

Brienne nearly stopped breathing. Of all the people she might find in the Wolfswood of Winterfell, Jaime Lannister was perhaps the least likely. “Ser Jaime,” she stuttered.

Jaime smiled ruefully and cocked an eyebrow at her. “I came all the way North to find Sansa Stark, and instead I find you dragging Stannis Baratheon around on a leash.”

“Kingslayer,” Stannis acknowledged with a sneer.

Brienne yanked the rope, and Jaime’s companion laughed as Stannis staggered forward. 

Jaime did not look away from Brienne even as he addressed his companion. “Bronn, you remember Lady Brienne of Tarth.” He glanced around the surrounding forest. “I seem to recall giving you a squire as well as steel. Have you misplaced him, bartered him away?”

“I did not,” Brienne huffed indignantly. 

“Then perhaps the boy is guarding Lord Bolton’s other quarry.”

How could he know that? Was Lady Sansa’s escape common knowledge outside the castle? Pod hadn’t heard anything the last time he traded for supplies in Wintertown. 

“I will kill you both before I help Roose Bolton,” Brienne snarled, settling into a fighting stance.

Jaime barely seemed to notice her threat. “So you do have the girl. Good.” His gaze shifted over her shoulder, hardening as it settled on Stannis. “And we finally have something Bolton wants.”

Suddenly Brienne felt very exposed. The snow obscured their enemies as much as it obscured them. Jaime could have hundreds of soldiers nearby, and she had nothing but a green squire. “ _You _ don’t have anything.”

Bronn’s wind-burnt face was less than reassuring, more of a grimace than a smile. Lord Bolton could turn that one to his side easily enough. But Jaime was watching Stannis with the kind of unconcealed loathing Brienne had once reserved for Jaime. 

Jaime took a deep breath and turned his gaze back to her. “I have a plan, which is more than you can say, I’ll wager. So let’s get out of the cold and talk.”

Brienne was uncomfortably aware that, despite the time they’d spent apart, Jaime still had power over her. A sharp blade was no defense against the way he looked at her, how easily his teasing drawl swayed her to do as he bid. Brienne was still a fool for him.

Reluctantly, she turned toward the ancient hunting cabin where Sansa and Theon would hide in the root cellar when Brienne gave the signal. She still had too many questions to let Jaime and Bronn see them yet.

Jaime followed her and Stannis, Bronn taking up the rear. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, but it couldn’t last. “I didn’t realize I was so easily replaced,” Jaime said quietly.

Brienne trudged through the snow, sparing a glance back at Stannis, who once again looked resigned to his fate, and Bronn, who winked at her. “I could say the same.”

“That’s a long story,” Jaime replied.

“He broke my betrothal and hasn’t found me another girl yet,” Bronn piped up. “You have an island, don’t you?”

“Not this girl,” Jaime snapped. 

Brienne whistled a warning to Pod. The cabin was just over the next ridge, partially dug into the forest floor, a refuge for Winterfell’s hunters. She never would have found it without Theon’s help. 

“You can’t stay long. The horses will draw attention,” Brienne told them. Sansa and Theon couldn’t stay in the cellar for long either. The floor was nothing more than frozen dirt.

Jaime spared one more glance at Stannis as they approached the cabin. “I will tell you how I came to be here, and you will tell me why that kinslayer still draws breath.”

“You had no love for Lord Renly,” Brienne scoffed, pushing Stannis inside and handing his rope to Pod, whose mouth gaped in surprise when he saw Jaime and Bronn. 

Jaime dismounted and tied his horse to a post by the door. He waited until Bronn entered the cabin before drawing close to Brienne. “Stannis Baratheon burned his daughter as a sacrifice to the Red God. If you don’t kill him, I will.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is a "what if" scenario for season 6 that will never happen. I know the director said that Stannis is dead. I just like the idea of Jaime finding Brienne leading around another prisoner.


	2. Sansa

Sansa watched dirt fall through the cracks in the floor above them as someone crossed the cabin. She could see Theon out of the corner of her eye, his eyes shining in the dark. She could smell him too. Sansa had ordered him to wash several times over the three weeks they’d been hiding in this cabin, but Theon still stank of the kennels. 

“Who do you think is out there?” Ser Jaime Lannister asked, both amused and irritated. 

“Bolton’s men. Your men,” Lady Brienne answered gruffly. She’d been even more taciturn than usual since she had returned from gathering firewood with Lord Stannis, unexpectedly bringing Jaime Lannister and the sellsword Ser Bronn with her. 

“No grumkins or snarks? Do you fear the Others too, my lady?” Ser Jaime teased. 

“No,” she scoffed.

“You should,” Lord Stannis cut in. “The White Walkers are real, and they are coming.”

“That tale did not work on me. Do you truly expect Ser Jaime to fall for it?” 

“Send a raven to Castle Black. The Lord Commander will tell you himself.” Stannis clearly believed what he said, but he also worshipped a foreign god and burned his enemies.

Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Jon, who’d barely had any beard to speak of when he set out for the Wall with Uncle Benjen. It seemed so unlikely. Sansa and Jon had never been close. Her mother’s unease with his presence was obvious, and Sansa had understood that Jon was not suitable company for her. 

Still, Jon would shelter her, wouldn’t he? If she stole a horse, could she reach him before the Boltons or Lannisters caught up to her?

“Tie him to a tree, toss him wherever you’re hiding the Stark girl, I don’t care. But I don’t want to hear another word from his mouth.” The venom in Ser Jaime’s voice made Sansa shudder. He really did sound like Queen Cersei. 

“Jaime,” Lady Brienne rebuked. 

“Forgive me, my lady. Are we still pretending that you don’t have the girl? By all means, let’s continue if you think you can evade Lord Bolton’s hunters all winter without any help.” 

Ser Bronn chuckled. "It only took us two days to find you."

"You were looking for us?" Lady Brienne's surprise and dismay matched Sansa’s. If both the Bolton men and the Lannisters were searching the woods, they would never escape.

“We were looking for the girl,” Ser Jaime corrected. “Littlefinger told Cersei that the Boltons were harboring her, and the smallfolk told us she’d run away. I’m to meet with Bolton in tomorrow.”

Sansa clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. It wasn’t enough that Petyr had given her to Ramsay, he’d sold her to the queen as well? She couldn’t begin to understand what he hoped to gain from this. None of it made any sense.

The full weight of her situation settled on Sansa suddenly. She was locked in a root cellar in the middle of the Wolfswood with the man who had betrayed her brother and destroyed her home. Above, a Lannister and his allies plotted what was to be done with her. The cold leached into her bones, the dark close around her, Theon’s stink filling her nose with every breath. She struggled not to retch. 

The talk above continued, but it was merely a buzz in Sansa's ears. 

Jon was her only chance now, the only family she had left. A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat and she buried her face in her dirty skirts to smother the sound. Sansa had left Winterfell so full of dreams: wedding a handsome prince, becoming queen and bearing beautiful children, a life filled with feasts and balls and well-bred company. That girl had never expected to watch her father die, to be beaten and used and locked away, to choke down tansy tea and be grateful for the blood and pain it brought. 

Theon curled up on the cold, hard-packed dirt stained red with old blood. She could not count on him. Even with Ramsay dead, Theon was broken. The few minutes when he’d killed Myranda and they’d jumped from the walls into a snowbank had taken every bit of his will. If Ramsay had found Theon in the woods instead of Podrick, Sansa had no doubt that she would have been returned to Winterfell and punished harshly.

Instead Podrick had slain two of Ramsay’s hunting dogs before Ramsay put an arrow through his shoulder. Ramsay had stood over Podrick, gleefully telling him how the dogs preferred to eat human flesh. Ramsay had stared down in shock at the Valyrian steel protruding from his chest, and fallen to the snow choking on his own blood without ever seeing Lady Brienne standing behind him. The dogs had fallen upon Ramsay while she dragged Podrick to safety. Lady Brienne had dispatched the dogs and burned them all. 

Ramsay’s death might have made Sansa less wary of Lady Brienne and Podrick, but she could not forget what she’d glimpsed of them in King’s Landing. Podrick trailing loyally behind Tyrion, stumbling over his words when he needed to speak to Sansa. Lady Brienne standing on the ramparts of the Red Keep, speaking to Ser Jaime with obvious familiarity and affection. 

That affection had not dimmed in their time apart. Half-listening to the negotiation going on above, Sansa recognized the dance of their speech: the teasing lilt of Ser Jaime’s voice, Lady Brienne’s guarded responses. It was no wonder Queen Cersei had been so vicious with Lady Brienne at Joffrey’s wedding. 

“At least give me Stannis,” Ser Jaime cajoled, as if he were asking for nothing more than a cup of water. 

“No,” Lady Brienne said firmly, adding, “He’ll talk,” as if she needed to explain or excuse her decision. 

“I could cut out his tongue,” Ser Bronn offered. 

“A gag,” Podrick suggested quickly. 

Sansa shuddered, remembering the cold eyes of silent Ser Ilyn Payne. A distant relative of Pod’s, and a face Sansa would see in her nightmares until the day she died.

“If you don’t trust my intentions, come to my camp, Brienne. Stannis can rot in a proper cage, and I can prove that I mean to keep my vow.” Ser Jaime’s voice was soft and persuasive. 

Sansa did not need to see Lady Brienne to know that she would go with him.

 

* * *

  
“She’s not coming back.”

Podrick startled. None of them had spoken in a long while, and he’d clearly been dozing. The axe in his lap wouldn’t do any of them much good if Podrick was sleeping when the men came for them. Bolton or Lannister hardly mattered. Sansa had no intention of being taken alive.

The squire wiped at his tired eyes and turned his gaze to Sansa, huddled beneath an ancient fur on the moldy straw pallet. “Lady Brienne will return, milady,” Podrick answered, but he sounded less than certain.

“They’ve been gone all night,” Theon said nervously, gesturing to the single grimy window, through which weak morning light shone. 

Podrick only shrugged. 

“She’s dead. Jaime Lannister slit her throat, or his sellsword did it,” Sansa insisted. 

“He wouldn’t,” Podrick protested. His brow creased. “Ser Bronn might.” He shook his head. “No, Ser Jaime would never allow it.”

“Ser Jaime would do anything the queen asked him to,” Sansa snarled. “And if Lady Brienne isn’t dead, what’s to stop her from handing us over as easily as she gave him Lord Stannis?”

Podrick jumped up, his axe held tight in his hand. His face flushed with anger. “Lord Stannis slew his own brother. Lady Brienne came here to protect you.” 

The squire was no warrior. Sansa had seen him sparring with Lady Brienne, and he was as green as grass, even Sansa could see that. Perhaps he believed Lady Brienne’s tale, but Sansa could not put her faith in promises to her lady mother. Lord Baelish had sung the same song. 

Sansa forced an apologetic smile onto her face. “You’ve both protected us. I am sorry, Podrick.” She was only sorry she’d woken him, not slipped away while he dozed, but Podrick seemed satisfied with her show of contrition. 

Despite their argument and the rising sun, only minutes passed before Podrick fell asleep again. Theon watched with wide eyes as Sansa wrapped herself in all her woolens and furs, tugging her hood over her head. She wouldn’t take him with her. Let the lions do with him what they would. Theon might not have killed her brothers, Sansa was not certain she believed that they lived, but he had turned his cloak and betrayed Robb. That he could not deny.

She slipped outside into the bracing cold, her breath billowing out before her. 

Movement caught her attention in the distance.

“No,” she breathed. 

Someone was coming, their crimson cloak bright against the snow.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There may be more here, I have some ideas, all firmly AU.


End file.
